


Difference

by Schock



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, Drabble, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:20:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schock/pseuds/Schock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky isn't who he used to be. Most days, he doesn't even know who he is now. Neither of those things have the power to stop him being inexorably drawn to Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Difference

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all criticism is welcome. All characters etc. belong to Marvel, I just put my spin on things. Un-betaed, so all mistakes are mine. Hope you enjoy.

Who can you trust, when you can’t trust yourself?

When you look in the mirror and honest to god can’t stomach what you see.

To have lived through lie, after lie, after lie. You thought you were helping.

But _you knew him_.

And that changed everything.

 

Bucky hadn’t planned on visiting the Smithsonian, yet here he was. Staring at a stranger. Jealousy was an ugly feeling and an unusual one, given the circumstances. Maybe it was sick, to envy yourself, but when you don’t remember anything about what it was like to be that person, can you call any ownership over them? Hazy memories of red and blue and white and _warm_ and a smile so blinding it hurt it look at sometimes, are injected with pain, cold and confusion.

He assumed it would help, learning about his past and about Steve. Instead there’s only more turmoil. He wants to go to him, is drawn towards Steve like a moth to a flame, but Bucky doesn’t know whether he wants to finish him or protect him from the world.  Either way, he knows where he’ll end up and he can’t bring himself to change it.

Bucky crosses Steve sooner than he’d thought. A flicker of a half formed idea, _go with him, let him help you,_ dances through Bucky’s mind, but he deflects it at the same time as he does Steve’s punches. Steve isn’t trying to kill him, but he isn’t holding back either, not that he ever did.

They are fighting because that’s what Bucky does now. He knows how and he understands it. Only this time, he does it for himself.

Edges of desperation lurk in the wake of every punch, kick and throw. Eye-contact held just a beat too long. After endless research on who he used to be, waves of borrowed nostalgia make Bucky feel like he should almost be fighting beside him. He misses something he never had and doesn’t know how to get it. Steve is pinned beneath him now, bleeding and bruised and _he never learnt how to back down from a fight_. When did the air get so thick? I can’t breathe.

With practiced ease, Steve reaches up and closes his fists around Bucky’s forearms. He jostles him down, tucking Bucky’s head beneath his chin and forcing his arms awkwardly behind his back, in a mockery of a restraint, more like a hug than any attempt to subdue him. It worked. Because Bucky wanted it. Wanted _him_.

He ran.

It was no mean feat to break away from Steve’s grip, not to mention fighting every fiber of his being telling him to stay put against Steve’s chest. But he ran. Despite barely knowing who he was, he knew he wasn’t who Steve wanted him to be and he knew he never could be that person.

 

\-----

 

Bucky didn’t have a house, but the people at the homeless shelter were kind enough. Kinder than he was accustomed to. But that wasn’t saying much. On warmer nights he learnt bits and pieces of a world that existed around him, pop culture and history. He smiled some. He never laughed, but he smiled some.

He finds Steve on a warm night. Living up to the title, Captain America hands out soup at the local kitchen. He smiles politely at Bucky and looks him dead in the eye- straight through him. The soup kitchen is small, crowded and noisy, but Bucky secures a seat that gives him a prime view of Steve, not knowing why, but needing it nonetheless. A fellow volunteer, a young woman, strikes up a conversation with Steve; she makes him laugh. A full belly, head thrown back, lost in the moment laugh. Jealousy curls up again in Bucky’s stomach. A different kind than he felt in the museum, this ruins his appetite and leaves a sickly, acid taste in his mouth. He tricks himself into believing he envies the freedom of the woman and her normality. He does. He _does_.

Later that night, Bucky dreams of a skinny boy with blond hair. He wakes up right before he hits the icy water.

Days, weeks and months pass. Bucky still sees Steve around sometimes, on the news, or in the soup kitchen. One time, just sitting by himself in a café. It’s never a memorable occasion, but if you asked him, Bucky could describe every detail. He contemplates approaching him now and then, but he never does. He doesn’t think about why.

One time, a press conference for the avengers is broadcasted across news stations worldwide. Bucky huddles in front of a store front, next to unfamiliar people with the same purpose he has- just a glimpse. The people are too loud and the volume is too soft to make out anything distinct. It was never about that anyway. Steve looks out from behind the screen, smiling with his comrades, signing posters for children and telling them when they grow up, they can be anything they want. Bucky has more of his memories now. He can never be the same, the old mixed too intricately with the new, experiences tainting his perspectives. He wants to be one of the children, smiling up at Captain America, believing without a doubt the words that come from his mouth are the truth, blindly reassured by his presence alone, a whole future ahead of him. It hits close to home.

Bucky has known Steve’s address all along. He stays at the tower mostly now, but still returns to his little apartment on occasion. It’s _always_ a coincidence Bucky happens to be nearby when he does. Sometimes he breaks in, after a rough night when he knows Steve won’t be there. Just stands around and looks at Steve’s life in books and movies and music. He catalogues the items in Steve’s fridge and tries to match them against the man from his memories, as though old broccoli will tell him the answers to questions he is too afraid to ask. They are both different now.

He still dreams of that boy from Brooklyn.

At some point, it’s too much. Bucky is standing outside Steve’s apartment. He can hear movement inside, a stereo playing in the background; a washing machine spinning. He knows he can come back easily enough when Steve isn’t there, or approach him in the street, but he can’t stand it anymore. It’s taken a lot just to get to this moment; an exhausting battle against a constant barrage of longing only placated by the complementary fear of rejection. His white flag is waving and he has lost. Bucky can deliberate leaving as much as he wants; he won’t do it. Until he lifts his hand and knocks on the door, pushes it open or in any way alerts Steve to his presence, he is stuck in the limbo between possibility and safety. One thing he didn’t count on was Steve opening the door first.

“Bucky?” Steve breathes out the word like a prayer. The door he wrenched open hangs listlessly and the bag of rubbish he was taking out sags limply where it fell from his hand in disbelief.

 

“Bucky.”

 

This time said with conviction. Steve’s face is crumbling, his brow furrowed in confusion, his eyes shining. Steve reaches out and flinches just the slightest bit when his fingers encounter the thin material of Bucky’s shirt, as though he was expecting them to pass right through. In a rush, Steve gathers Bucky into his arms, hugging him tightly. It lasts just a second before Bucky tenses up. The moment is gone. Steve lurches away, his expression far from the open delight it previously held, now cautious and hyperaware. Bucky opens his mouth, to apologise, to explain himself, but nothing comes out. Awkwardness seeps in. Bucky begins to regret his decision- clearly he mistook the relationship, he shouldn’t have come at all- and starts shuffling backwards.

“Wait. Please. Buck. _Bucky._ Come inside.” Steve is pleading with him now. Bucky will do anything to wipe the kicked puppy look off of Steve’s face, and so shuffles closer.

To anyone observing the pair from the outside, it would have looked like a strange kind of dance, full of meaningful glances and alternative scuffling, but eventually Bucky is ushered inside.

“Bucky, c’mon, take a seat,” said Steve, gesturing to a plain looking sofa in the living room, “I’ll get us something to drink.”

It feels nothing like what Bucky remembers them having; it’s not an easy friendship. Its two strangers avoiding the elephant in the room.

Steve wanders back with two glasses of water in his hands. He chuckles uncomfortably, “Sorry, water is all I have, I usually go shopping today but I guess you caught me unawares,”

“Water is fine,” Bucky replies. They are the first words he’s spoken to Steve since he pulled him out of water so many months ago and he’s instantly kicking himself. Steve doesn’t care what Bucky thinks about the water, he’s just being polite. Bucky is making a fool of himself.

“So how have you been?” asks Steve, looking earnestly in Bucky’s direction.

“Ok.”

“That’s good to hear,” Steve sighs, and Bucky _knows_ what’s about to happen. Steve would prefer it if he left, if he kept his distance, if he didn’t try to talk to him again. He knows he can manage it. If he’s maintained his space so far, he can do it some more. He remembers- _knows_ \- Steve, he’s a creature of habit and has a stubborn streak a mile wide. Steve is not likely to change his schedule even if he doesn’t want Bucky around. It’s possible to still keep an eye on him from a distance.

“Look, Bucky, I have something to tell you and I’m not proud of it,” _Here it comes,_

“I’ve been following you. As soon as they let me out of that hospital I had every resource I could get my hands on tracking you down. Hell, I even had Tony search through national security cams. I know you’ve been sleeping in shelters, on the streets sometimes, and I know you can damn well look after yourself, but if you want it, there’s a place here for you.” Steve interprets Bucky’s stunned silence for skepticism. “I realise it might be uncomfortable for you, so don’t get it into your head that this is some kind of order, it’s your decision. I just wanted you to know you’re welcome here.”

“Thank you,” Bucky mumbles. There’s so much more he wants to say, it’s practically bursting from his tongue, humming through his veins, simultaneously getting tangled with each other in their haste, leaving him with nothing. He can barely meet Steve’s eye after everything he did, so perhaps it’s a futile wish that Steve understands how very dear he holds the unexpected invitation, when all he receives is a response void of emotion.

It’s more than what he could dream of. That flicker of hope he so often buries deep within his subconscious is rejoicing.

From there, the pair sit in companionable silence until Steve announces his presence is required at an avenger’s function, something to fundraise for poor children. Bucky catches himself fondly thinking _typical Steve_ , but dismisses it as too much time in close proximity making him emulate the past. Steve encourages him to stay, although he lets the matter drop when Bucky insists he has errands to run and will be back soon.

“You aren’t the only one with a life,” Bucky remarks.

He meant it to be funny, to end on a light-hearted note, but Steve blanches and rushes to correct himself, tripping over his words in an effort to make amends. Bucky lets him. However, he makes a mental note to work on his tone of voice, and leaves the apartment feeling better than he has in long time.

 

\-----

 

At first, Bucky spends little time with Steve in his apartment, too caught up in imagining the absence of familiarity. Then, Steve has a mission that goes awry, one that coincides with one of Bucky’s stays.

After the initial few visits, Steve had an extra key made for Bucky, so he could stop sneaking in through the window like a burglar and his neighbours could stop telling him to install a security system. Mostly because he already had one. However, that inevitably led to Bucky opening the door to find Steve sitting on the couch, covered in blood, scratches and bruises. Without thinking, Bucky promptly made his way over to Steve, crouching in front of him and scrutinising his face.

“What happened?” It was clear Bucky’s endeavor to improve his conversational skills was lacking, as Steve’s face pinched tightly at Bucky’s clipped statement.

“It was a routine mission, nothing to worry about. I just happened to get caught up by a straggler, trying to go out with a bang by taking some innocent civilians with him.” Steve’s face darkens as he replies. There was always a bleaker side to being a hero, one which the public seemed content to ignore for the time being- including mass damage to buildings and the death of bystanders caught in the middle. Bucky knew it had constantly been the hardest part for Steve for deal with, the loss of life, and in another time it had been hard for him too. Now, it seemed like one of the few things that could be counted as a certainty. Eventually, death would make equals of them all.

For now though, Bucky merely reached out, taking Steve’s face in his hands in a rare show of outward compassion and pressed their foreheads together.

“Steve. I’m sorry. It’s not enough, and it never will be, but it’s the truth. I- I- _god damn I can’t even say it right_ , but of the few things I’m certain of in life, you’re one of them.”

The two stay leaning against each other for a long moment, until Bucky draws back and heads off to the bathroom, returning with a damp flannel, which he tosses to Steve. “Now clean up before you drip blood on the carpet.” Steve’s lips quirk up in answer and he begins to wipe off the blood, the serum having healed all but the biggest of his wounds in the amount of time since Bucky had arrived. He opted out of informing the other man of his bypassing S.H.I.E.L.D’s medical assessment. For all his apparent alterations, Bucky had remained the same in the way Steve had been banking on; he was still stubborn as all hell, and there was no way he would let him out of his sight until he deemed Steve road safe. More than anything, Bucky couldn’t escape Steve’s companionship now if he tried.

It wasn’t even as if Bucky was trying to avoid his friendship either, it was only his perception of Steve that was holding them back, something which he planned to change as soon as possible-“I’m guessing you’re even more behind on pop culture than I am?”

He wasn’t.

In fact, Bucky knew and understood more than his fair share of references, but chose to keep it to himself, in favour of watching Steve’s face light up as they greeted a new day watching The Princess Bride.

 

\-----

 

Life marched on. Bucky and Steve uncovered the more obscure facets of the future together, and in doing so discovered they had become friends along the way. It was a different dynamic than how they were _before_ , but different didn’t mean bad. Steve’s apartment had grown into ‘home’- a shared space for the two of them, instead of Bucky encroaching in another’s territory. It was nice.

Until it wasn’t.

At least, not for Bucky. Because ‘nice’ suddenly wasn’t enough. All it took was Steve sleepily wandering into the kitchen, running a hand ineffectively through his bed-head and Bucky was gone. It was less of a shock than it maybe should have been. Less of a realization and more of an _understanding_. Not that that helped at all. Of course, he knew Steve wouldn’t have a problem with it, but he would probably start giving Bucky some distance and painfully try to have some kind of heart-to-heart. That would inevitably lead to uncomfortable interactions from both of them, and the result would be the end of the only friendship Bucky had. So, silence it was.

Keeping his attraction hidden was deceptively easy at first. Nothing much changed in the way he acted, because he had always loved Steve, even when he couldn’t remember his own name. Yet, he still worried sometimes that Steve only saw him as his best friend from the 40s. It’s not that he _wasn’t_ as such, because nearly all of those memories had returned, but so had _other_ memories. No longer were they impressions of feelings, thoughts or colours, a blur of a face in the rain, or the smell of carnage. They were exact. Vivid in detail. Enough to send him screaming into wakefulness in the middle of the night. It all added up to another reason Steve could never find out about his feelings. Was it all just excuses? Probably.

Like everything with them though, it was only a matter of time. Living in close quarters with someone meant little to no breathing room- Steve was spending more time at his apartment now that Bucky was there, yet also appeared to be hinting that Bucky’s presence wouldn’t go astray in the tower, something which Bucky was opting to ignore- which could only lead to Steve discovering Bucky’s ulterior motives for closeness. It was all about avoiding the issue for as long as possible. For this, Bucky hatched a truly _awful_ plan. He would, slowly but surely, distance himself from Steve until they were at a place of friendship, but not so close it was all Bucky could think about. Self-imposed distance was preferable to enforced distance brought about by awkwardness. It had taken them long enough to get over that the first time, the second didn’t bear thinking about.

He started simple. A little extra space between them when they watched movies. A little more time spent outside on ‘errands.’ Less casual touches. Less cleaning up Steve’s things when he left them out. Not noticeable things. Just enough. It was working.

It was working and it was breaking Bucky’s heart. That was something he didn’t count on.

The other thing he didn’t count on was Steve cornering him, after another movie spent extra inches apart. Steve was always doing the opposite of what Bucky thought he would do. He didn’t know why he expected this to be an exception. Maybe he didn’t want it to be. Maybe he wanted Steve to notice.

“Hey, are you alright? I noticed you’re acting a little different lately. You know you can talk to me right?” For all Steve tried to play it off as friendly concern, he sounded too anxious for it to be a casual remark.

“I’m ok. Why?” answered Bucky, a little too quickly.

“No, no reason. You just. _You know_ ,” said Steve, a hint of desperation lacing his tone. It was clear he had something to say, he just didn’t know how to say it, so was putting puppy eyes on Bucky to get him to speak first. Bucky was having none of it. After putting up with Steve in his 90lb body, resisting this was a walk in the park.

“Do I? Would you be so kind as to enlighten me in what I know?” Bucky was teasing now, while quietly anticipating the fall out.

“Ok, we’ll do this the hard way,” Steve said with a kind of certainty. He looked at Bucky, sitting on the far end of the couchwith mirth in his eyes. He pounced. Steve landed heavily on Bucky, pinning him to the couch with his weight. The very last thing Bucky had expected from Steve was to tickle him. However, here they were; Bucky squirming and thrashing; Steve attacking any part he could get his traitorous fingers on and both letting out peals of breathless laughter.

“Stop! Stop! Please... Steve, mercy, you win!” Bucky gasped out between laughs. Their movement slowly came to a stop, breaking down into smiles and heavy breathing. Steve clamoured off Bucky gracelessly and collapsed next to him, their shoulders pressed together. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time laughed like that. If he ever had.

“Now, will you please tell me what’s going on? You’re my best pal Buck, c’mon,” said Steve. In the wake of their giggles his voice appeared hushed, carrying a meaning Bucky didn’t dare let himself hope for, but decided to risk anyway. Still crammed together down one end of the couch, Bucky lent in and let his lips brush against Steve’s. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, the kiss brief, but in that moment Bucky couldn’t have wished for anything else. Leaning back, he watched Steve’s face blossom into a smile, lighting up like he hadn’t ever seen. Everything in Bucky’s life was different now, but different didn’t have to mean bad.

\-----

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on tumblr: thehousepartyprotocol.tumblr.com


End file.
